Collision
by Clepsydra-Delphinus
Summary: A war of attrition is declared a draw and the participants come to an amicable conclusion. HermioneDraco.


Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Author's Notes: Written for the HP Flashficathon, hosted on Lasair's journal. (http://www.livejournal.com/users/lasultrix/   
  
Thanks to Lasair and Sarah for the betas. This is Hermione/Draco. I am now developing a strange fondness for the pairing.   
  
Collision.   
  
He had been kneeling on the ground, glaring into Potter's eyes, Potter with his fist back, ready to strike. Draco had closed his eyes and braced himself; the fist had whistled through the air, however the blow never came. Draco had opened his eyes and found Potter's fist perfectly stationary in front of his mouth, Granger's bony ink-spattered hand gripping Potter's grubby fist. Her knuckles were white from the effort but she had looked at Harry pleadingly.  
  
"Harry," she'd said, "he's just a boy."  
  
And Potter had looked at him with an odd sort of realisation, dropped his hand from Granger's grip, smiled, and walked off.  
  
Draco had caught Granger's arm and pulled her down to the ground till she knelt in front of him. He'd looked into her eyes and sneered  
  
"I'm not a boy, Mudblood. I'm a man. Some day I'll show you what real men do to filthy little Mudbloods like you."  
  
Weasley had moved to punch him, Potter had reached for his wand, but Granger held her hand out again to stop them. She had sneered back, stood up and then, insult upon injury: she ruffled his hair. Ruffled his hair as though he were a tiny child and then walked off and left him.  
  
She hadn't turned back. She had completely humiliated him and never even turned around. And there was no way to respond. Any response he'd made would have made him look childish. He had called out "Don't touch me Mudblood!" but it had sounded pathetic in the empty hall. Potter had looked at Granger, recognising she was right.  
  
It was the most effective thing that she possibly could have done. Draco couldn't approach Weasley, Potter or Granger without them looking at each other, confirming for each other that Granger had been right about him. He'd stopped to say something in the corridor, it had been a really witty remark too, but when he was facing Granger and she was looking down her nose at him, challenging him to prove to her that he was as immature as she expected him to be. Suddenly the remark wasn't important. He'd simply waved her aside and said "Get out of my way, Granger." As he was storming away down the corridor he had just known she was smiling knowingly at Potter, and rolling her eyes.  
  
The fact that Potter would no longer fight him, that he considered it beneath him to fight him, had been humiliating. It had made him nothing. And he had grown so used to being something. As long as Draco had been fighting Harry then he was something in the eyes of the school. The Slytherins would back him up because it had been fun to tarnish the golden boy, but now he had drifted slowly into obscurity.  
  
He had watched Potter stalk around school, had seen him plot and scheme with the shame of a Wizard Weasley. And he had glowered at Granger, the little witch that pottered along behind them rolling her eyes and reading a book. He had seen her alone in the library deeply engrossed in a book. Asleep in abandoned classrooms. He had known that there had been nothing great about her that could explain the desperate desire he had for her approval.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle hadn't managed to gain sufficient O.W.L.s to allow them to even start their N.E.W.Ts. The last Draco had heard they had taken up the family business, namely positions in the Ministry as thugs followed by positions in the Dark Lord's forces as thugs. Draco hadn't been permitted to join the Dark Lord. He was too young, his father had said. When his father had told him that he had been mortified. He had felt like he was kneeling in front of Potter again, like the punch that Potter decided to pull had fallen at last. And it was Granger's doing. Draco had walked numbly to his room, he had vowed right there and then to make Granger crumble. It had briefly crossed his mind that this was an immature thing to do but he felt that he could get away with being immature some of the time.  
  
Draco had never been one for a battle of wits, wit was too fine a weapon for him. He had always just been angry. He would attack in anyway he could, finding insecurities, finding weaknesses and if words failed he'd use anything he had to get a rise out of his opponent. He had tried fighting Granger like this a few times, she had knocked his attacks aside by simply not responding. He had never been able to make her do more than sigh and shake her head at him. She had jarred his senses simply because she had been so outside of his control. She had treated him as though he were nothing.   
  
Hitting Granger was the single most amazing thing that he had ever done. There had been a rush of anger, a beautiful moment of calm as his fist flew through the air, a rush of jubilation as his fist collided with her jaw bone, and then the triumph as she was knocked to the ground. In the moment before the fear and shame washed over him, he had been struck by how beautiful Hermione looked at that moment. She had stopped being Granger, a detestable know-it-all; instead she was a girl. A young girl with pale, bruisable skin, a rosy flush in her cheeks, dark lashes and dusty pink lips. A drop of deep crimson blood had run down from the corner of her mouth.  
  
And that had been an addictive moment. It had gone against everything that his parents had ever instilled in him. Hurt women magically, for there they are your equal; physically hurt them and you are a coward and a bully. It had been wrong, but beautiful. If she ever told anyone, he didn't want to think what Snape, Dumbledore and his mother would do to him. He didn't want to know how his friends would react. He'd been scared, his hands cold, he'd wanted to apologise but hadn't done. Instead he'd sneered.  
  
She had got up slowly, first pushing her hair back from her eyes and then wincing as she had raised herself to her feet. She had gingerly touched her cheek and then had dipped her finger in the droplet of blood that trailed off her face. She had scowled at him through squinting eyes. Suddenly the hate filled glare had become a look of menace. Draco had had only time to look alarmed before a solid punch had collided with his nose. It hadn't knocked him to the ground, it had just made him sway a little. It had left a smarting pink mark on his face but little else. Draco had blinked stupidly for a moment. He had just stood there, looking at Granger and remembering what she had looked like splayed out on the ground.   
  
And she kissed him. He didn't remember it happening. He remembered she had drawn her hand back to hit him again but instead had brought it down firmly on his neck and had kissed him. He remembered that afterwards she had turned and had run from him.  
  
He loved the way that she would bite her lip when she saw him pass her in corridors, he loved the way her eyes would widen. The squeak of fear every time he met her gaze was his particular favourite. She was his now. He'd crushed the massive force that she had been and turned her into something he could control. She was a powerful witch and she was in his power. It made him feel amazing.  
  
The biggest shock was when she had come to him.  
  
"I'm tired Malfoy. I don't want to play your games anymore."  
  
Draco hadn't known what to say so he had looked her in the eye and smirked. She had breathed in sharply before seeming to steel herself for something.  
  
"I don't know why I like you, but I do. And I'm tired of fighting." She hadn't been wearing her tie. She had loosened a couple of buttons but revealed nothing more than a pale collar bone. She had moved towards him and placed an ink-spattered hand on his neck. She had brushed his lip with the round tip of a cold finger.  
  
And she had kissed him.  
  
Draco hadn't known what to say, he had been caught somewhere between not being able to believe that this was happening to him, that she was doing this and wondering what his father would think.  
  
She had moved away, her eyes very wide and her lips dry and trembling. She had moved her hands away from Draco and had bitten nervously at a corner of one of her nails.  
  
"Draco? Say something?" she had pleaded.  
  
Draco had stood; he hadn't looked at her in case he changed his mind.  
  
He had reached his hand out and let it hover above her head for a moment. He had smirked slightly. He had ruffled her hair and then had tried to walk away; she had caught his sleeve and pulled him round to look at her.   
  
"Draco?" she had whispered again.   
  
He had decided he didn't want revenge anymore. He wanted to stop. He did stop. He had known he had made her believe he was more than a boy and that was enough. He hadn't felt it necessary to hurt her further.  
  
She had kissed him tentatively again; he had kissed back. 


End file.
